The Hip Kids
by missymoobelle
Summary: Soul supposes Maka is the most badass chick she ever knew, even though she was a complete flower child. fem!soulxmaka girlxgirl


**This is a one shot of fem!soulxmaka in a university!AU~ Where Maka is a hippie/flower child and Soul is A GIRL and is a punk/hipster. Inspired ENTIRELY by neiree-ahah on tumblr and her wonderful art of this concept she created!**

**_Before You Read: the pairing is same sex so just a shoutout if there are any peeps expecting something different_**

**Soul Eater, hipsters, and oak leaves are not owned by me 3_3**

**As always, Enjoy~!**

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><p>Soul supposes Maka is the most badass chick she ever knew, even though she was a complete flower child.<p>

{First Meeting}

She remembers lounging on the Girl Dorm's rec room sofa, listening to Regina Spektor in one ear and to a group of fashion major's wedding daydreams in the other. Mentally and physically rolling her eyes, she counted the turns of the humming ceiling fan above and half listened to their titters and girlish sighs about white cakes and wedding dresses. As if girls actually thought about the groom of all things.

When Maka was asked what kind of bouquet she would choose, and looked up from her novel to crinkle her eyes beneath blonde bangs and confidently state, _"My_ _Venus Fly Trap, still in her pot of course"_, Soul decided she had liked her.

Of course she had never spoken that out of her mind, God knows her words would fly into the air and slap her into an un-cool submission. She settled on finding her the next day, and there she was, faithfully sitting in the same beanbag in the rec room still reading another well-worn book. It took a few pacing laps in the hallway and pinch to her rosy cheeks to regain her detached façade until she finally turned around and asked her why she liked carnivorous plants so much.

"Oh," she began, albeit pleasantly curious, "Hey."

"Hi."

"…They're survivors, I guess? They don't have enough resources via sunlight or soil, so they sort of stump mother nature and grab insects right out of the sky. It's weird and a bit unsettling, but I've always wanted to be as frighteningly surprising as they were to me."

She closed her book and rubbed her shoulder thoughtfully, consciously. "And I ramble. A lot."

Soul smirked. "Sounds to me like you're already as unpredictable as those plants you idolize so much."

Though she thought that was a mouthful of unpracticed bullshit and cursed herself for such sappy lines, goddammit, she saw her sitting form straighten and her bangs cover her eyes just a little less. Green eyes, like empty wine bottles on a beach.

"My name's Maka, Maka Albarn. I like your jacket's spikes."

"My name's Soul Evans. I wear a lot of spikes."

~O~

{3 Months}

It turns out Maka wasn't a fashion major as her friends proclaimed they were, instead having one in biology. She aspired to be a botanist, to fly across oceans to catalogue, sketch, and discover anything of the green and leafy variety. Though she had a soft spot for meat-hungry flora, any sort of plant was welcome in her interests.

That's why it puzzled Soul so much to why she chose to stick with her during any sort of off-time they shared. She liked hair gel and classic rock, worn red bandanas and leather gloves, pierced noses and the smell of gasoline on her bomber jackets. Aesthetical hipness was perfected to a T for her; she had worked her skinny butt off for the image she holds today. No, not for anyone else to gawk or gossip at, to judge so shallowly, but for her own sole appreciation. Soul was just selfish that way.

Maka couldn't care less about appearances though, or coordinating her scarf and sock's patterns. Her coats were the summer's soft winds, her earrings the cold rain drops from an autumn drizzle, a large maple tree the sunhat she never forgot to bring. No one could live as honestly as Maka could, because no one was capable of sitting on the grass and nuzzling it as a thank you for its cushion. She gave and wanted not to receive.

Yet still, there would be conversations where she would ask how Soul managed to weave such intricate braids into her hair from behind, because how could she know if it looked good if she couldn't see it being braided? Or asking why she owned 36 pairs of converses, all in different colors, and what exactly was the purpose of studding every article of her clothing? And was that outer-space print and upside down cross on her blouse really necessary? Soul wasn't even Catholic, geez!

"Calm down nerd-zilla! It's called a 'fashion fad', and I make it work. Unlike some losers here, I know what I'm doing with my clothes."

"You're such a snob, Soul." Her words came out fondly, though. Perhaps her eyes shone in even more fondness of said girl in ripped black tights, and an obnoxious purple -skulled sweater-dress. Soul really did over think herself more than she claimed; she had always looked nice.

Shaking her loose pigtails to cool off burning cheeks, she looked up and giggled at Soul's stare. Maka took her tan sandal and swatted her black-clad calf in an interpretable answer, afterwards laying it down on Soul's lap. Soul leaned back and tossed her loose alabaster hair back, taking the time to admire the blonde's tiny pink toes, then working her way up her long pale yellow skirt that draped across Maka's entire lower half. Sometimes Soul forgot there were legs underneath them; they usually hung at ground's length.

Which calls to attention, she had never seen Maka's legs before.

"I've never seen your legs before."

"Wow-" Maka lifted then dropped her foot onto Soul's lap for emphasis. "What a crisis."

Soul did not smirk, but smiled. She liked it when Maka's snark came to challenge her own. "So, can I lift your skirt up?"

"…What?!"

"What? I said I wanted to see your legs!"

"Soul, we are in the middle of the courtyard..! Someone will look, you idiot!"

"Everyone's in the cafeteria though, and we're way out in the grass. Besides, who hasn't seen two legs before?"

Of course! It's just basic human anatomy, everyone has a pair. She talks to flower petals and dances in thunderstorms for crying out loud, showing Soul her legs was of no problem whatsoever.

"It's not like I'm sprouting tree branches under there or anything…" Soul wouldn't be surprised if she was anyways. Maka mumbled under her breath, handing the edge of her skirt in consent.

Unceremoniously, Soul lifted the thin fabric high up and blinked at what she saw: _legs_. Shocker.

Mundane as they were, they were still Maka's and she had good reason to believe that no one else ever got a glimpse of this hidden treasure. She wasn't terribly bony, but slender, Soul would say. Her thighs were smooth and light and reminded her of white nectarines or dove eggs. Something so pure and normal and simply astounding to her made her lips tug in time with her heart. She smiled at nothing and everything at once until she looked at Maka, and froze.

Because Maka was smiling right back.

"Are you done looking at my panties yet?"

Soul had quickly clamped her skirt opening shut and subsequently refused to look at the blonde's laughing form for seven whole minutes. She was as pink as Maka's underwear.

~O~

{7 months}

She unabashedly loved Soul's music, and always took the time to tell her how her piano, or guitar, or just her singing alone was the most beautiful sound she's ever heard a human make. And yet her major was still undecided, already two years into Shibusen University.

Maka let it be, for the most part. It was just that, the Soul that let her fingers dance along ivory keys and hummed to her ancient jazz records was the happiest she has ever seen her. She should celebrate her gift of creation! Not many could do what Soul does; that's what sets her apart from the rest. Maka hated to see the only person bringing Soul down anymore was her own self.

It got her to think.

They were currently in Soul's dorm, her roommate out for dinner and her evening thus free to crash by Maka's standards. A quick call and stop by a nearby vending machine later and Maka found her way up to Soul's door, entering and leaping on her bed with two chip bags in hand. She tossed one barbecue flavor to the 'hostess' of the night, as she left her own ranch bag to sit on a bedside table. Soul had heavily laid down on the other bed, such as her usual lazy self would do.

"You know," she began, letting loose her low pigtails in a sign of thought, "I changed my major the first year I was enrolled here."

Soul lifted her eyelids to look at her with idle, ruby eyes. Rubbing them, she turned on her side on the bed and glanced back at her. Though subtle, she learned that that was her way of indicating her to continue.

"Did you now? Miss straight as an arrow, no take-backs Albarn?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. I did! I thought I wanted to become some…poet, or philosopher. I don't know. But I was eighteen and I thought I knew everything and how it had to exactly go down."

Soul's white lashes blinked in wait, eyes shining in humor as Maka decided to tell her.

"Well, first off I wanted dreads–"

"_Phfffft-!_"

"**SOUL!**"

Aside from the hysterically laughing girl across the room, rolling around the floor in sweatpants and an old ACDC shirt, Maka paused and regained the dignity Soul had lost. It most certainly was not a laughing matter!

But dreads? Seriously?!

"If you're done having fun over there, I was saying that I wanted a lot of crazy things! Such as, yes, dreads, and also wanting to smoke weed, get belly button piercings, and at one point a tattoo of a giraffe, too. Patti almost talked me into it."

"God…that is just too perfect for words." Soul put her hands over her face to contain the complete glee over Maka, sensible and straight laced guru of the sun, stars, and trees, almost becoming one of the many sad, poser-hippies at the university (many who in actuality just wear flip flops and get stoned every day).

"But, I think I thought like that because of my Papa."

That "lecherous jerk" as Soul had come to know him by, had the complete idiocy to ruin Maka's childhood psyche. Behind her calm, Soul had a righteous fury burning in her chest anytime Maka mentioned him.

"I was so eager to get away, yet at the same time I wanted to change myself completely, make him look at me, let him watch how he's ruined me. I wanted to blow smoke from my blunt into his face, I wanted to ink all of my arms and legs and see him cringe at the story tattooed there, I wanted him to see the new-age rebel I became. The daughter he lost.

But, I didn't do any of that."

Pausing, Maka jumped down from Soul's comforter and onto the floor, coming to sit in front of her. She tugged her long, white sundress's skirt out from under her to lay it over her crossed legs. Soul's eyes followed the movement.

"I had finally figured out what was wrong. I was so…so unhappy with my life, because I was expecting others to make it better. But, my Mama wouldn't come back for me. My Papa wouldn't hold back for me. And that was that.

Only you have the ability to give yourself true happiness, and you also have the ability to allow others to affect that happiness. In the end though, it's up to us to decide if we want our lives to heal and move on, or if we still want to get caught up in things past done and now gone."

Since the subject was brought up, Soul thought back to when she and Maka stayed all afternoon in the city park. Maka had gathered golden and crimson oak leaves along with dried roses, still a pale maroon. She taught her how to weave them into headdresses, and had promptly named them both queen and queen of a land where trees flamed bright all year round.

Or the time when she convinced Maka to wear her (mega-cool) platform heels, with the silver spikes she loved so much, to her classes for a whole day. She came back sore, embarrassed, and demanding a full body massage because Soul failed to mention that walking in heels is not recommended when walking down icy stairways.

In fact, Soul has one too many "Remember the time…" moments with Maka. Her life had now become biding her time between classes, sleep, and bathroom breaks to eventually meet Maka and laugh with her, cheer her up, annoy her shitless, and fall in love with her again and again.

Maka is true happiness.

"I am?"

Now, Soul did not mean to say _all of that _out loud, nor did she mean to think it or feel it, but she did. She did with all her body and soul, and Maka just had to know it somehow before she quite literally imploded upon herself in a full-on panic attack.

"Yeah, you huge nerd. I mean– hey! Put that book down, I was just about to compliment you!"

Maka stilled her actions, and didn't mean to look so hopeful.

"I, uhm, I never was really all that confident in myself before. I mean, I was spoiled. I had a lot of clothes and money, and people said I was cool 'n shit, but it meant nothing until after I met you. You sorta- no, you _did_ teach me how to like myself for me."

Soft hands held Soul's, and she couldn't find it in herself to stop the fountain of love-vomit coming from her sharp-toothed mouth. "I-I play the piano for myself a lot more, and I've written songs that I don't want to tear up. Whenever I make hard decisions now, I think of what you would do and follow that. Also, I think you turned me onto flower crowns. I ordered some from Amazon today."

"Soul."

Trying to reply, her voice got lodged in her throat and could only grip Maka's hands in simultaneous fear and adoration.

"Remember when we first met, and I said I wanted my Venus Flytraps for a bouquet?" Soul curtly nodded. "Well, I lied. Before, I had seen you laughing with someone, and I saw your teeth. They reminded me of my Venus's, and it made me say that thing about the bouquet. You made me say those things, and I hadn't even known your name."

And before either one of them knew what was happening, Soul had jerked just close enough to graze their lips and press them together for a few moments, before leaning back and trying to remember how to breathe.

At a loss for better words, Soul quietly confessed, "I like that you like me, Maka Albarn."

Maka leaned in so that their eyelashes grazed each other, and interlocked their fingers with the most shy, hesitant, and terribly elated look in her green eyes that she has ever seen. Against her mouth, she repeated, "And I like that you like me, Soul Evans."

Inhibitions gone, their mouths met halfway slanted against each other softly, clumsily. Soul's lips tasted as pink as they looked, and Maka could only clutch her olive shoulders as Soul kissed her bottom and top lip serenely. Accidentally, her sharp teeth caught the corner of her mouth, but all Maka voiced was breathy and low praises, so she adventurously sought out her tongue and dragged her teeth on its underside.

Ash-blonde lashes opened, and as Maka had urgently pressed their chests together, their breasts' rubbing created the most delightful feeling of friction. Now laying on her back, Maka demanded that yes, the skirt can go, and to please touch her tree branch-free thighs, **now**.

She fingered the elastic encircling her waist, but before sliding it down she brought her trembling hands to cup her very own flower child's face, and whisper to her how much cooler life was now that she was in it. Maka let out a tinkling laugh and kissed her in return, and right then Soul swore she saw a forest in those bright green eyes.

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><p><strong>Please R&amp;R!<strong>


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